


The House at the End of the Lane

by QueenofLit



Series: High Priest of Wōd [1]
Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Greek Mythology Reference, M/M, classical art reference, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of impending war, mentions of madness, written for FullerFeast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofLit/pseuds/QueenofLit
Summary: Shadow wasn't certain what to expect from the people they were visiting next. If the imposing house straight from the pages of a southern gothic down on the disappearing coast of Florida was any indication, however, he thought this one might just leave him with a shiver down his spine.





	The House at the End of the Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #FullerFeast down at the Cre-ATE-Ive! I haven't been able to see much of the show, unfortunately, so this may seem more in line with the book than the show, but I've done my best.

_wōd - Old English_  
_[N] - madness_  
_[Adj] 1. insane, mad, crazy, rabid, wild, raging, senseless, blasphemous_  
_2\. mad with anger, enraged_

 

They drove to some small city off the coast of Florida. Then even further. The houses were in various states of decay, corresponding with the amount of water near. The sea was rising up, here. Reclaiming the land. Some roads had become inaccessible. And still, residents would not leave. The town was small, and inching further and further away from the newly rising sea, but it was there. 

“Take this road here,” Wednesday piped up from the passenger seat. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d crossed the border. Now he grumbled under his breath. “Course the bastard would chose a place like this.” 

Shadow wondered what kind of person they were calling on now. The house at the end of the lane was two stories that seemed more imposing than the paint-chipped wood siding would suggest. They could hear the water lapping at shore not far away - testing the boundaries to see if they would hold. A weeping tree stood beside as dogs bayed in a nearby field, sinking the tableau into something more reminiscent of southern gothic than modern amassed horror. Nonetheless, Shadow parked the car in a clear dirt patch to the right of the porch and followed Wednesday to the door. 

Before he stepped onto the porch, Wednesday stopped decisively and turned around. “Now, I don’t want you accepting any food or drink from these people, you understand me?” 

Shadow nodded. It was no stranger a rule than any other he’d been given. 

Wednesday leaned closer, peering at him with a hard stare. “I mean it. Nothing. No snack, no beer - hell, that boy of his has probably figured out how to taint water by now. Don’t accept anything.” 

“I won’t,” Shadow said. 

Wednesday continued staring a bit longer, before he nodded with a great ‘harumph’ and turned to finish the last few steps towards the door. 

The doorbell rang a hollow gong. The sound bounced off the tree, and other trees further away. Perhaps a house or two. 

After a moment, the door opened. A tall man with sharp cheeks stood before them, checkered suit holding its shaded pattern in red lines dark as crusted blood. “Good afternoon,” he greeted. His accent made the words dip and flow like waves bound by crisp and precise consonants. Shadow wondered where he was from. “How may I be of assistance?” 

“I done told you not to answer the door without me!” Another voice interjected, sharp and crisper, somehow, for the Louisiana drawl that nearly ran words together. “Those losers in suits could come knocking any day and I won’t risk you like - oh.” The second man was standing in the doorway now, pressed slacks and a neat emerald button-up less austentatious but no less expensive than the first man’s garb. The man scowled, which drew upon the scar lining his cheek. “Wednesday, you meddling old fool.” 

“Wōd,” Wednesday replied. “I guess you know why I’m here.” 

Something dark shifted in those blue eyes, holding on Wednesday’s own and calculating the measure of something found there in the depths. “An offer from the man who hung on the World’s Tree to counter the offer from the man who fancies himself Mister of the world.” 

Blue eyes blinked, and the spell was lost. “Well,” their host said with a shrug, “come on into the parlor. Hannibal,” the name was spoken gently, and here the shorter man put a gentling hand on the taller man’s arm. “Would you mind making us some tea?” 

Hannibal’s whole face softened, eyes shining with adoration as he looked upon the smaller man and replied, “Of course, mylimasis. I shall bring it to you shortly.” 

The man went down the hall in one direction, and Shadow followed Wednesday and their host in another. The hall was painted in wide stripes of dark color, interrupted only by strange art. The parlour was no better - a few bookshelves and a scattering of odd side-tables, but the paintings were unsettling and the items on display strange. There was a dagger, and an old gun. Tribal masks and some iron contraption that looked like it had once been used in torture. Silver and copper diagrams of eyes and livers. The painting that hung as the focal point of the room showed a nearly nude young man held by a great black eagle as it soared away from the earth below with a single knife resting below, still flaked with old blood. 

Wednesday took one look at the painting and snorted. 

Wōd raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, face mischievous and eyes alight with mirth. The joy changed his whole countenance. “You should have seen where _Leda and the Swan_ was hanging in his last house. I barely stopped him from hanging this one in the front hall.” 

“I wouldn’t say you were one for abductioning all innocent like,” Wednesday commented dryly. 

Wōd smiled gently at that. “You’d be surprised,” he replied, rubbing his hand over a white-gold wedding ring. “I was trying something new - nearly got lost in humanity. Barely remembered myself, although it remembered me.” 

Shadow wondered what he meant by that. What had the consequences for living a normal life been, for one who wasn’t? 

“Then you know why we need to make a decisive strike now,” Wednesday stated firmly. “Before we grow weak enough for them to pick us off.” 

Wōd tilted his head and shed his softness. There was danger lurking in the stillness of his poise, and Shadow knew with the instinctive urgings of prey that this man was a threat. 

“All else grow weaker by the day,” Wōd finally spoke, words falling with measure and weight. “Not I. Why do you tarry here, Óðr? The old ones weaken so far from their lands and loves, pale shades of the giants they were. You yourself have grown a creak to your bones. If these so called “New Gods” were wise, they would simply wait out the passing of time. Why are you so eager for a war?” 

Wednesday sat straighter, something in the line of his spine hardening into steel. “They brought this war to us - began picking off those they could prey upon. Why should we not return the favor?” 

Wōd’s smile was dark and cragged, shadows of jagged glass held tightly between bright steel corners. “Feast upon their power to increase our own, take the life they’ve gained to prolong that of those who aren’t long for the ferryman. But would you share it, I wonder - would you be willing to split the spoils among your guests at the feast?” 

“I have given deaths to Ostara,” Wednesday countered. “Ones killed by my own hands.” 

Wōd continued to look at him, hard and heavy, until the air between them was broken as Hannibal joined them, tea tray in hand. Seemingly undisturbed, the older man put the tray down and began to pour as he questioned, “Would either of you care for a cup?” 

“No,” Wednesday replied sharply, “thank you.” 

Remembering his order, Shadow gave his own rejection. “I’m fine, but thank you.” 

Wōd took a cup, sipped, and then smiled. He looked like an angel then, even as he said words straight from the devil’s mouth. “You turned Mrs. Carson into tea.” 

Suddenly, Shadow remembered the news event they’d been able to watch even from prison even as he felt a cold fist wrap around his lower spine. Four years ago now, the Chesapeake Ripper had escaped custody with one Will Graham in tow - hostage or accomplice was hotly debated to this day - and disappeared after a battle resulting in the death of another serial killer known as the Tooth Fairy. 

Shadow was very, very glad he’d been told not to accept anything while in this house. 

Hannibal - Hannibal Lecter, feared murderer and cannibal - smiled. “It seemed a fitting end,” he replied, sitting on the loveseat with Wōd before drinking from his own cup. “What have I missed?” 

“More of this silly line in the sand business,” Wōd replied absently. “The elders prepare for war with the overconfident youth, and as usual Óðr stands in the thick of it, gathering troops that may only lend to his glory.” 

Wōd stared into the depths of his tea a long while. The house seemed to settle and still, all things waiting for the decision to be made. Finally, Wōd laughed. “Why not?” he proclaimed in mirth. “I have no need of this, but it’s been some time since I last lashed out on a field of fresh blood.” Wōd nodded at Wednesday. “When the time comes, we shall be there.”

“We?” Wednesday asked, raising an incredulous brow. “Certainly you’re not taking the boy?” 

“Hannibal is my High Priest,” Wōd replied in a steady voice. Shadow suspected it was only so steady because it held itself on the razor’s edge of rage. “Husband, he is also called. I would not deny him the gift of this battle.” 

Shadow watched as Hannibal took one of Wōd’s hands and kissed it, adoration evident in every line of his face. 

Wednesday sighed. “Do as you wish then - another pair of hands certainly won’t hurt. I’m afraid there remain too many to visit to tarry long. We’ll see ourselves out.” Shadow hurried to stand as Wednesday rose to his feel. Taking up his hat once more, the old man nodded. “Thank you for your aid.” 

“May you prosper until that day,” Wōd replied. He nodded at Shadow. “I daresay I’ll have no hold on you. Live well, Shadow Moon.” 

“Thank you,” Shadow replied, slightly unnerved. “I hope you both have a good day.” 

Two of the most wanted men in the states nodded back. 

Shadow followed Wednesday out of the house, and into the car. With no instructions, Shadow simply drove back down the way they’d come. As they passed the marker bidding them a cheery farewell from the town, Wednesday spoke. “He gives that feeling to everyone, don’t think on it too hard. All said, we’re lucky to have him. He visits even the eldest of us, and won’t begin to pale until the last living thing breathes it’s last. Whichever side he fights for will have a marked advantage. Iowa’s our next stop,” Wednesday stated, dropping the subject abruptly. 

Shadow nodded, and did his best to forget the encounter. Later, he might think about the fact that he’d met Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham and lived to tell the tale, but not now. For now, he focused on the next destination. 

He hoped whoever awaited them there was less frightening.

**Author's Note:**

> Óðr is the Old Norse word for madness, derived from Proto-Indo-European *wet- and is a cognate of Old English wōd and German Wut, interestingly enough. I would have used Óðr for Will's god name, but Óðr is actually recorded as husband of Frejya in early manuscripts. There is some debate among scholars as to whether or not he is a Norse god in his own right, or if Óðr is an earlier form of Odin. Could also be that Óðr was originally a god on his own that over time simply got melded in with Odin until the two were one and the same, either for political reasons or to fix the issue of Frejya having two husbands. 
> 
> The painting is The Abduction of Ganymede, because that is just totally something Hannibal would do, having swept Will away. I imagined it as the Rembrant, but it can be whichever version you like best.
> 
> The sea rising up to claim back parts of Florida is a real thing. Saw an article about it and it's just kinda stuck with me ever since. At least, I'm pretty sure it's Florida.


End file.
